Hollow
by midwestern-duchess
Summary: "What matters most is how you walk through the fire." -Charles Bukowski


"Nikos, Pyrrha," the announcer calls.

His summons echo around the walls of the arena, and whispers rise from the crowd: shocked girls chatter to each other, surprised boys mutter to one another, alarmed adults confer in hushed tones.

The girl with scarlet hair just sets her jaw, rising from her seat. She hears the clatter of shields, the shriek of swords, the clang of armor. The noises soothe her as she makes her way to the ring.

There is metal everywhere here, she knows. Her Semblance sizzles and snaps at her fingertips, and she taps out a rhythm against her hip as she walks on.

Her boots click against the concrete pathway as the announcer lists off her past accomplishments. She remembers the tournament coordinator asking her to slow her pace as he did—if she didn't, she'd reach the ring before he'd finished.

She tunes him out, drawing on the comforting sounds of her element. The harsh, shrill ring of metal cries out from other matches in the stadium. The sounds linger in the air and she revels in them as she keeps moving forward.

She catches the expressions of the crowd as she walks past, noting the awed, almost worshipful faces that stare back at her. She looks away, cursing herself for losing focus.

Her opponent is a boy—tall, slender, and fairly attractive. The announcer names him as Neptune Vasilias, but she's already well aware. She'd encountered him once during a friendly tournament between the two Mistral school of Haven and Sanctum. He's earned something of a reputation for himself for his carefree, aloof attitude.

He's what every girl at Haven wants and what every boy at Haven wants to _be_.

They enter the ring, and their eyes clash: emerald against sapphire.

"'Lo there, Nikos," he greets her amiably.

"Hello, Neptune," she answers, all quiet professionalism.

"Combatants, shake," the announcer orders.

Pyrrha squares her shoulders, lifting her chin as she extends her hand. Her lips twitch with amusement as she feels his fingers constrict tightly around hers, no doubt trying to intimidate her with a crushing handshake. Her eyes spark and she flexes the fingers of her left hand.

Immediately, the metal buckles that secure his glove wrapped around his right arm jump to attention. Nothing dramatic—she's far too practiced—but enough to make him rip his hand from hers to inspect the offending piece of armor with narrowed eyes.

"I've got my eye on you, Nikos," he tells her in a tone that could almost be called playful.

Pyrrha offers him a dazzling smile in return. "I should hope so, Neptune," she replies serenely. "I was hoping to give our spectators a decent showing."

Neptune is still chuckling when the announcer gives the order to draw their weapons.

Pyrrha's gaze immediately catches the shine his weapon throws off as he swings it around before him. It's a guandao she that recalls seeing transform into a trident, as well as collapsing into a gun. She narrows her eyes, noting the versatility it lends him.

He sees her expression darken and chuckles. "Nervous?" he asks, slamming the weapon down blade first. It stabs clear through the floor of the arena, sending shards of cement flying.

Unimpressed, Pyrrha stares him down, summoning her own weapons with a simple gesture and a tug of her Semblance. Miló throws off a crimson glint as it appears in her hand, and Akoúo̱'s polished surface gleams like freshly spun gold.

"Ah, the classic combination," he comments, his gaze sweeping over her weapons. "What're they called again? Miló and…?"

"Akoúo̱," she supplies smoothly. "It means _listen."_ Humor flashes in her eyes. "Something you may want to do more of, Neptune."

He barks a laugh, which she answers with a small smile before the warning whistle sounds. Both immediately drop into their respective stances—Pyrrha's emerald eyes glitter over the curved edge of Akoúo̱ and Neptune's cocksure smirk reflects in the polished surface of his pike.

The countdown begins. Pyrrha glances over Neptune's shoulder to watch as the number changes from ten, to nine, to eight. She hears her opponent chuckle and snaps her gaze back to him.

"Someone in the stands made you a sign, Nikos," he tells her. Amusement sparks in his cobalt eyes. _"Invincible Girl."_

Pyrrha's mouth goes taut with annoyance. She eyes the countdown again.

"I didn't ask for that nickname, you know," she finds herself saying as the countdown nears three.

Neptune snorts. "I know," he tells her. "That's what makes it so funny."

Pyrrha's eyes catch fire. The countdown hits zero.

The whistle blows and she rolls away with everything she's got. Her reflexes favor her—Neptune's guandao splinters the spot where she'd stood in seconds.

She rises to a crouch, Miló poised over Akoúo̱'s groove to fire off a round of shots. Neptune bats them all away with a few well-aimed swings and charges at her. Grimacing, Pyrrha lowers Akoúo̱ and swipes out with Miló. As the weapon whistles through the air it changes, lengthening and sharpening until she's stabbing downward with a javelin.

Neptune reigns in his attack sharply to defend himself. Their weapons clash and the steel sings. Pyrrha smirks.

They trade blow after blow, slowing making their way around the arena. She wouldn't say she's _toying_ with him—she's far too professional for something like that. Neptune is a sincerely gifted fighter, but there's something she can't quite place. Something that's making her resist the call of her Semblance.

She finds herself backing off, giving herself space to order her thoughts. Neptune tries to rush her, but she hurls Akoúo̱ at him. The shield strikes him square in the chest with a resounding thud. The air is crushed from his lungs and he goes down hard. He gulps in a ragged breath as Pyrrha reclaims Akoúo̱.

"Nice shot, Nikos," he wheezes.

She spins Miló in a tight circle, changing it back to xiphos form, preparing to leap forward and end the fight, when a movement in the stands catches her eye.

She watches as a boy fights his way to the front of the crowd. He grips the guardrail, looking down into the arena.

 _"_ _Neptune!"_ he yells, his loud voice carrying cleanly through the chamber. _"Don't you dare give up!"_

On the ground, Neptune scoffs. He's managed to push himself up slightly, one hand braced against the ground, the other clutching his chest.

"Thanks for embarrassing me, Sun," he mutters. "Really appreciate it."

 _"_ _You can do it!"_ the boy, Sun, shouts again. His golden hair shines in the bright lights as he leans over the guardrail. _"Come on, man! Get up!"_

"I _got_ it man, geez!" Neptune rolls his eyes. "You'd think the guy was my mother."

Pyrrha freezes, watching with a glare poisoned with anger and jealousy as Neptune slowly hauls himself to his feet, grabbing his weapon off the ground.

He chuckles to himself. "Friends, am I right?" he shakes his head, twirling his guandao and readjusting his grip. "What can you do?"

Pyrrha tries to smother her expression, tries to retain her mask of composure, but the genuine cadence in the boy's voice rings in her ears painfully.

Neptune takes in her wild expression and frowns. "Nikos?" he asks, lowering his pike. "What's wrong?"

He's open—unguarded. Completely and utterly exposed. Pyrrha's eyes flash to the weapon slack at his side and she knows he won't be able to lift it in time to block an attack. She can win. She can knock him out of the ring in a second.

But she waits. Hesitates. Sun's voice won't get out of her head.

She's heard praise before, of course. She's been on the receiving end of endless cheers and compliments. Every victory earns her a standing ovation. Her professors rain recognition down on her and her fellow students glorify her endlessly.

But there's something different in the way Sun had called out to his friend. It's like Sun would feel Neptune's loss or victory just as acutely as Neptune himself. He isn't concerned with Neptune's record, his standings, past accomplishments, or anything like that. It's just one friend encouraging another.

Friendship. Pure and simple. Pyrrha feels herself tremble.

"Hey, Pyrrha, are you okay?" Neptune peers at her, concern lighting his sapphire eyes. "You look a little…bothered."

She grits her teeth, willing herself to gather her composure. "I'm fine," she tells him stiffly. She holds Miló in a white-knuckle grip.

Still looking decidedly uncertain, Neptune triggers a switch and his weapon unfolds into the form she'd been waiting for: his trident.

He levels it at her. She stands there, motionless.

"I've got a rule about attacking pretty girls when they aren't expecting it, Nikos," he tells her, his words tangled with sarcasm and genuine worry. "Come on. You strike first."

Her mind races as she calculates this new development. She should absolutely charge him. If she goes at him head-on with Miló in xiphos form he'll be finished. His trident gives him extra reach but leaves gaping holes in his defense. She could take him out easily. A few simple dodges, a feint to the right, and a devastating upward slice. A direct hit to his Aura.

She'll be one step closer to winning her fourth Mistral Regional Tournament crown.

But…she'll also be one step farther away from everyone else.

Four wins of the Mistral Tournament would be an unheard of feat. The pedestal she's already on would grow to ungodly heights. Her stomach heaves at the thought.

Would people grow even farther away from her? Already, she struggles to insert herself into conversations, to make herself a part of the group. Would she become even _less_ approachable?

Neptune watches her anxiously as she stands there, eyes wide with worry over these new thoughts.

"Nikos," he prods her gently. "I don't know what's going on, but you can't give up now. You've got that fan in the crowds, remember? You're the Invincible Girl!" He forces an unsteady laugh. "You don't want to let them down, do you?"

But if by letting them down, she also lowers herself in their eyes…

She snaps to attention, and Neptune's grip tightens, seeing the visible change in her demeanor. Her eyes blaze as she twirls Miló around. The weapon gives off a familiar click as it transforms itself into a short, double-edged sword.

She has to kill the Invincible Girl.

She lunges at Neptune, a new plan unfolding. He blocks her first strike easily, eyes narrowed in concentration. He sweeps outward with his trident and she nimbly dodges the attack. As she predicted, his trident is more unwieldy than his guandao, and she watches as he leaves himself completely open trying to recover his balance.

She doesn't take advantage of it, though. She watches as he rights himself, reassessing her. _This is it._ She swallows hard, waiting. _Just let it happen, Pyrrha. You can do it._

Neptune's trident whistles towards her. The glow of his weapon bathes their faces in a watery blue light. Pyrrha lifts Miló, but it's all for show. The angle of her weapon is all wrong. Instead of blocking Neptune's attack, she only deflects it. His trident cleaves the edge of her xiphos and continues down, throwing off bright sparks and eliciting a metallic screech. The force of it knocks her off balance, as she knew it would.

She stumbles and Miló slips from her fingers.

Pyrrha watches, shoulders slumped in defeat. She wonders if anyone in the crowd cares that she's about to lose like Sun cares for Neptune. She wonders is anyone ever _will._

Neptune stabs downward with his trident

Time melts. Becomes elastic.

The hum of her Semblance turns into a scream in the back of her mind, and Pyrrha winces at the sudden force of it. Akoúo̱ glows gold and she wonders wildly if it's a trick of the arena lights when suddenly her shield—and, by extension, the arm it's attached to—swings upward in a wide arc, meeting Neptune's strike head-on.

The contact showers the combatants in sparks, and the resulting noise sounds like a stannic sob.

Instinct, raw and unbridled, overtakes Pyrrha like wildfire, and she lashes out with her fist to strike Neptune directly in the face. He yelps in surprise and his hold on his weapon loosens enough to allow Pyrrha to disarm him with a slam of her shield.

She stands there, eyes ablaze with determination, armed with nothing more than a simple bronze shield.

Neptune first looks to his trident, which has been knocked far out of reach, then to Miló, which still lays untouched at her feet. Then he lifts his gaze to hers and a small smile tugs at his lips.

"Well, look at that," he muses. His eyes dance. "The Invincible Girl lives on."

Her eyes narrow at the nickname and she lifts up her shield threateningly. He lifts his hands in surrender. "Ah, ah, ah! Not the face, please!"

She ends up knocking him to the ground with a simple sweeping kick to his ankles, resting her foot on his chest and placing the curve of her shield at his throat.

The whistle blows and she backs off as the announcer names her the victor.

Cheers erupt from the crowd, but Pyrrha barely hears them as she offers a hand to Neptune, who happily accepts.

"Thanks," he tells her, flashing a smile. "For not hitting me in the face, I mean."

She smiles back. "Maybe next year," she tells him, and he laughs.

"But hey, seriously," he sticks out his hand. "Nice match, Nikos." He shakes her hand warmly, but she gasps as he yanks her forward, his lips at her ear.

"But I can't help but think maybe _you're_ the one who needs to listen more, hm?"

He pulls away then, offering her a jaunty smile, before turning to meet Sun, who had apparently bounded down from the balcony to congratulate his friend.

Pyrrha watches, amused, as the blond Faunas nearly tackles the blue-haired boy, clapping him on the back with such force he almost knocks him down.

"Would you calm _down,_ Sun?" Neptune gripes, trying to readjust his goggles.

"Dude! You went a round with Pyrrha Nikos!" Sun crows. "And she didn't _kill_ you! That's amazing!"

Pyrrha chuckles softly to herself, turning back to the ring. Tournament staff, reporters, and fans have all flooded the small space in the moments she'd had her back turned. With a sigh, she bends down to collect Miló, securing both her weapon and shield on her back. She is Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible Girl.

Nothing left to do but to keep moving forward.

* * *

CAN I JUST SAY THAT THE AMOUNT OF RESEARCH I DID FOR THIS STUPID FIC WAS ABSURD. _**ABSURD**_.

Anyway, have some Pyrrha. She's an interesting character and I might write more about her again. I think her separation from the rest of her peers eats at her more than she lets on, and I'm sure she has moments where she's just real fucking done.

Also, Neptune, because I have a very strict rule about not putting original characters in fandom pieces and I honestly couldn't think of anyone else to fight her. Plus, I think they have an interesting dynamic, what with Neptune doing everything he can to be popular and Pyrrha wishing she wasn't.

I know Arkos is endgame I'm 100% for that and Jaune's great and all but I can't say I'd be opposed to Neptune and Pyrrha being buds.

Also people seem to think this is my way of shipping Pyrrha and Neptune and that is not at all the case. I don't really care much for shipping RWBY characters, that's not really what I write about. You're free to ship anyone you like. I more of a character study kind of person. Really, I could have replaced Neptune with anyone: Sun, Scarlet, even an original character if I felt like it. **The story is about Pyrrha.**


End file.
